


in sickness and in health

by meretricula



Category: Tennis RPF
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-18
Updated: 2010-08-18
Packaged: 2017-10-11 03:53:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/108049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meretricula/pseuds/meretricula
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nole's such a drama queen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	in sickness and in health

**Author's Note:**

> Australian Open QF 2010, Andy Murray d. Rafael Nadal 6-3, 7-6(2), 3-0 RET  
> Australian Open QF 2010, Jo-Wilfried Tsonga d. Novak Djokovic 7-6(8), 6-7(5), 1-6, 6-3, 6-1
> 
> Rafa retired with a knee injury; Novak refused to retire despite a case of food poisoning or a virus that clearly affected him during the match.
> 
> Marian Vajda is one of Novak's coaches, the one who didn't come with him to Australia. Todd Martin is his other coach, the one who did. Jelena Ristic is Novak's girlfriend. Jeca is a common Serbian nickname for Jelena. Marko is Novak's middle brother; he's about four years younger than Novak and his nickname is Mare. Djordje is their youngest brother; he's about four years younger than Marko and his nickname is Djole.

"I want Marian," Novak said miserably, curled up in fetal position on his and Jelena's bed. Marko leaned against the doorframe and watched as Jelena stroked his hair, visibly biting back an irritated reply. Nole was a total brat when he got sick, and getting rid of their mom and dad had probably used up most if not all of Jelena's patience. "Do you want me to call Todd and have him come?" she asked gently. Marko shook his head at her frantically, waving his hands for good measure. Todd was nice and all, but he was _not_ what the situation called for.

"No, I want _Marian_," Novak repeated. It was closer to a whine than a twenty-two year old multi-millionaire should ever get. Fair enough: Marko wanted Marian too. He was the only person who could really deal with Novak when he got like this.

"Well, he isn't here," Jelena snapped. Novak sighed, then made a weird gagging noise. She added, "If you're going to throw up, you'd better do it in the toilet and not my lap."

"I'm not going to throw up," Nole said; he had somehow managed to squeeze himself into an even tighter ball around his stomach. "There is nothing left in my stomach _to_ throw up." Djole emerged from the suite's bathroom with a wet washcloth and sat tentatively on the edge of the bed so he could put it across the back of Nole's neck. "Thanks," Novak muttered, and uncurled a little to pat Djordje on the head. Djole smiled worriedly at him: Novak uncurled a little more. Jelena and Marko glanced at each other over Novak's head and rolled their eyes.

Marko actually didn't mind that Djordje was Novak's favorite. Djordje was _everybody's_ favorite, including Marko's; obviously it was a little unfair that Djole had to be the nice one _and_ the talented one, but Marko didn't hold that against him. Anyway, it was pretty useful at the moment that no matter how upset Nole was, he would never, ever take it out on the baby of the family.

Nole let Jelena wipe his face and then made a good-faith attempt at smothering himself with the pillow she had in her lap, which meant that he couldn't see Marko when he gestured to get Djole's attention and mouthed, PHONE. Djordje looked confused; Marko pointed at Novak, held his hand up to his ear in the universally recognizable pantomime for calling someone, pointed at himself and mouthed again, GET HIS PHONE. Novak was bad enough when he was too sick to care about anything but how physically miserable he was. He was going to be unbearable when he remembered that he'd lost the match, too. They needed reinforcements.

Djole scowled, but he slipped Novak's cell out of his jacket pocket under the cover of giving him a quick hug and tossed the phone to Marko. Then he wormed his way under Novak's arm, snuggling right up against him. Marko wrinkled his nose - you could not have paid him to get that close to Novak when he was covered with fever-sweat and probably still smelled like vomit, but Djordje was Djordje, and kind of superhumanly nice - and quietly ducked out to the hotel suite's living room.

He wasn't supposed to know his brother's password, but there were a lot of things Marko knew that he wasn't supposed to. The phone rang six times, and he had only just thought to wonder what time it was in Spain when his Nole's stupid secret boyfriend (who was so not a secret from anybody except Mom and Dad and probably Todd, but whatever) finally picked up. "Novak! You feel okay now?"

"This is Rafael Nadal, right?" Obviously it was Rafael Nadal; Marko had met him before, and the accent was pretty much unmistakable, not to mention he was listed under his name in Novak's address book, not "stupid secret boyfriend." It was polite to check, though.

"Who are you, and why you have Novak's phone?" Nadal demanded. "Is something wrong?"

"This is Marko Djokovic," Marko said. "Obviously something's wrong, did you watch his match?"

"I see last set only, I am all day with the doctors. He is sick, no? Is bad? He need the hospital?"

"It's just food poisoning, they think," Marko said, because Nadal was clearly worried and he wasn't a _total_ asshole. "But he's sick and he lost and he's being a jerk to Jelena, and I figured he'd want to talk to you."

Nadal was quiet for a moment. "Jelena is there?" he asked at last, cautiously.

"She won't mind, don't worry," Marko lied. He was pretty sure that whatever arrangement Nole had with Jelena - which he didn't _want_ to know about, because his brother's sex life, ew - stipulated that she didn't have to know about the secret boyfriend, which was sort of the whole point of his being a _secret_, but at least this way she'd be pissed at Marko, not Nole or Nadal. "She'd probably be grateful if you distract him. He's not fun when he's sick."

"Oh," Nadal said. "Can you - just a minute," he added, and then there was a lot of very fast Spanish in several different voices, which ended when Nadal yelled something very loudly and slammed what sounded like a door. "Sorry. Okay, I can talk now. Give phone to Novak, please?"

"Sure," Marko said. He went back into the bedroom, where Novak was still doing his tragic impression of a soap opera heroine who'd just miscarried her baby; Djordje, whose main virtue was probably a pathological inability not to sympathize with everything, was fussing over him, and Jelena just looked annoyed. Marko was on her side: it was only food poisoning, Novak wasn't dying. He always had to be such a drama queen about things. "Nole, phone," he said, offering it to his brother.

"Who would - " Novak said, and then he saw the caller ID and snatched the cell out of Marko's hand. "Hey, are you okay?" he demanded. He was only quiet for a few seconds before he snapped, "Don't even start with that bullshit, Rafa, you're such an asshole," and Jelena's head jerked up. Marko met her gaze steadily, and shrugged. Finally her mouth quirked up a little and she slid off the bed, pulling Djordje with her as she left the room. Marko waited to make sure Nole was settled; when he flopped back on the pillows and said, almost reflectively, "God, this really sucks," Marko figured that Nadal had at least signed on to deal with this kind of self-indulgent melodrama and went to face Jelena's wrath.

She didn't even seem that mad, really; she and Djole were straightening up the living room, putting sheets on the couch. "What are you doing, stop that," Marko said reflexively. "Jeca, you can sleep in my bed." Jelena looked at him sidelong and raised an eyebrow, but it was a joke, thank God, and after they all burst out laughing the tension in the atmosphere was gone. "I meant I'd share with Djole, Jesus," Marko said, relieved.

"Hey, maybe I don't want to share with you and your smelly feet," Djordje said.

"Shut up, you love them," Marko retorted, and chased Djole around the room with one shoe still on his foot and waving the other at his brother while Jelena sat on the couch and laughed.

"Okay, okay, enough," she said finally, when Marko had Djole pinned down on the carpet with a sweaty sneaker in his face. "Djole, it's way past your bedtime, go brush your teeth and get changed into your pajamas."

"Aww, Jeca," he complained, but he obediently trudged to his room when Marko let him up.

Marko twisted around to look at Jelena. "Do you need to get anything? I don't know, a T-shirt or something."

"I'll be okay," she said.

He hesitated, then blurted, "Are you mad?"

Jelena looked almost surprised. "At you? Of course not, Mare."

"No, I mean - because of the phone thing."

"Oh." She sighed. "No, it's a pretty exceptional situation. I just wish - I mean, Nadal. That's even stupider than when he was messing around with Andy Murray in juniors."

"Nole's pretty dumb," Marko agreed, and carefully didn't ask how she knew about Murray, which he'd only figured out after the fact from the way Nole talked about him _all the freaking time_ and then wouldn't talk about him at all for about two months. "But, I mean, you won't - "

"I'm not breaking up with your brother," she said, smiling, and leaned forward to ruffle his hair. "It's sweet of you to worry, though." She got up, still smiling. "I'm going to bed, okay? Don't smother Djole in his sleep."

"Okay, 'night, Jeca."

"'Night, Jeca!" Djole yelled from the suite bathroom.

"Good-night, Djole," she called back, and vanished into Marko's room. He was thinking about going to bed himself when he heard Nole calling for him.

"Hey," he said quietly, shutting the door behind him. "You feeling any better?" He squinted at Nole and added, "You still look like crap."

"Wow, thanks for the compliment," Nole said, and rolled his eyes. "I'll be fine in the morning. Is Jeca mad?"

"Not really." Marko shrugged. "She's going to sleep in my room. You're kind of gross right now."

Nole yawned, too widely to even try to brush it off. "Yeah, okay. Turn out the light, will you?" Marko flipped the lightswitch and had a hand on the doorknob when Nole added, "Hey, um. Mare. Thanks."

"Yeah, whatever," Marko said. He glanced back at Novak. "I'll see you in the morning. And, you know. There's always next year."

**Author's Note:**

> so Leah got this party started with a [Rafa/Nole ficlet to soothe our aching souls](http://aramleys-words.livejournal.com/9627.html#cutid1), then I retaliated with [RAFA/MANDY OMG!](http://meretricula.livejournal.com/144224.html) (well okay I didn't post it this promptly but she planted the idea, that hussy), then she came up with the goods in a [heart-squishing full-length sequel to her ficlet](http://aramleys-words.livejournal.com/9627.html#cutid2). dear Leah, let the record show that with this addition I have hereby discharged my obligation of two (2) post-Australian Open comfort fics. ball's in your court. =P


End file.
